Curt felt his way around clumps of underbrush and outcroppings of rock. The wind, swirling along with them, carried a heavy curtain of smoke.
They were rolling down a long slope when a front tire let go with an explosion like that from a young cannon and Curt twisted desperately at the wheel, fighting for control of the big vehicle. The driver jumped to help him and between the two of them they brought it to a halt without an upset.
Curt jumped out to survey the damage and returned almost at once.
“No chance of repairing the tire even if there was time,” he announced. “We’ll see how much further we can go.”
With both Curt and the bus driver clinging to the wheel, they started on, though traveling at a painfully slow pace.
At the bottom of the valley they stopped, a thin ribbon of a stream blocking their way.
Once more the cowboy lunged out into the smoke-filled night to stamp through the shallow waters of the stream. The bottom seemed fairly firm and Curt returned and took the wheel.
“We’ll try to go through, but everyone unload. No use to carry any excess weight.”
The entire company piled out of the bus and watched Curt start across the stream. He made good progress, the front wheels climbing out on the other bank and for a moment it looked like he was going across. Then the sand gave way and the back wheels churned up a spray of sand and dirty water.
Curt snapped off the ignition and jumped out of the bus.